


Vigil

by Seasonal



Category: Persona 4
Genre: Angst and Humor, Freshman Trio, Gen, Hospitals, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2012-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-22 01:38:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/604401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seasonal/pseuds/Seasonal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's all they can do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vigil

It's all they can do.

The entire team, on the suggestion of one, or three, or all eight in silent harmony, always stands clustered around the bed, watching over its tiny inhabitant; they hadn't been able to protect her in that other world, they'll fight tooth and nail and claw to fight this particular battle for her now. Even if all they can really do is support her-- "believe in her," as Kanji had said. Even if it's just talking.

Rise's the most natural in this bleached white setting, chattering animatedly about how it'd been such a _boring_ two weeks without Nanako there, especially because Naoto had tried to distract her fellow first-years from their worrying with the best of intentions-- but well-meaning for Naoto meant being holed up in a library and memorizing math formulas and dates of battles waged and English vocabulary lists until their Detective Prince was satisfied that they wouldn't completely fail the upcoming finals.

Naoto interjects that the word is not _boring,_ but _productive_ , and if Rise would put half as much focus into her schoolwork as she did her grandmother's tofu, she wouldn't have to call these study sessions as often. Their exchanges win smiles from Nanako and Souji, laughter from their upperclassmen (who get it) and Teddie (who doesn't, but pretends to), and Kanji stands there like a delinquent deer in the headlights and desperately schools his expression to keep from looking either terrifying or terrified.

Most of the time, they only manage her name, and let her sleep. None of them can bring themselves to be alone with Nanako, watching her fight to breathe, her little face contorted every so often when some of the pain slips past all the medication they've been giving her. None of them except for Souji, of course, and the others will slip outside and take waiting positions while he wordlessly grips her hand for hours.

Chie and Yukiko sit together in the waiting room during those times, while Yosuke alternates between sitting with Souji and Teddie, keeping Teddie away from the nurses, tearing his eyes away from the nurses, and pacing up and down the hallway.

The remaining trio tend to take watchful positions outside of Nanako's room: Kanji leaning against the wall, Naoto sitting and staring at the floor, Rise with knees pressed together and hands clasped, looking for all the world like she's trying to summon her Persona.

It's no well-kept secret that none of them like hospitals. Naoto remembers impersonal voices and disinfectant, sirens and being rushed from one corridor to another, and a constant stream of words like 'accident' and 'tragedy' and 'no immediate relatives'. Kanji remembers watching his father slip away, not at all like the strong man he'd admired, and his loathing for hospitals is rekindled to a blazing high. Rise has never lost someone, but with every new case of fog-related illness admitted and the hysterical, panicked ramblings that echo from closed doors, she hunches over a little more and flexes her fingers a little tighter.

Not for the first time does Kanji wonder if their Personas' powers are actually useless in their world; Rise gets that same strained expression whenever they're in someone's dungeon for too long, like she's being personally subjected to their conflicted and painful emotions and their turmoil.

Naoto seems to have noticed the same thing; she inches closer to Rise and speaks to her quietly until the idol relaxes, and the distance remains decreased from that day on. It's good for both of them, and for Kanji, who sure as hell doesn't want to start worrying about _them_ now.

It's their seventh day in the hallway, after the ninth person has stumbled into a nearby examining room, complaining about poisonous fog and they hear Nanako's faint cough. A kid comes flying around an innocuous-seeming corner and collides soundly with Kanji's kneecap, prompting a very stifled swear, a very startled Naoto - who still doesn't know how to handle anyone over the age of five - and a very amused Rise when the boy latches onto Kanji's leg with the adamant declaration that no, he is _not_ going back in there, he _doesn't need needles._

The boy returns to his ward via Kanji walking there with his new leg attachment-- not because he _can't_ pry him off, but goddammit, the kid's got guts, and he can't _blame_ him for wanting to get the hell out of this place. His leg is liberated with placatory promises of stuffed alligators and gruff reminders that real men don't run from anything, and that _should_ be the end of it-- except then the kid's roommate recognizes Rise, and she very well can't leave when she's got an excited fan clamoring for her attention.

"it's bad publicity, Kanji," she insists, and Kanji would retort that _that's_ bullshit, but he knows better when Naoto eyes him ominously, and he _knows_ they're screwed when the news spreads to the other kids on the floor.

They wind up with eight, all of whom are suffering from negative effects from the fog-- something the trio can't help but feel responsible for, and it's almost a relief to have something else to do when Souji sits with his cousin. The days following are filled with visiting Nanako and, as Rise cheerily puts it, 'making the rounds'. What this mainly consists of is storytime with the kids; there can't be any strenuous activities, or the nurses frown, and the best way to keep them quiet and attentive is with a good book.

A good book, by Naoto's definition, is one that exposes young children to literary culture early on.

A good book, by Rise's definition, doesn't take seven tries and as many corrections to accurately pronounce the name of the protagonist until she lets the detective take over. Naoto is forced to compromise by coming up with voices for the various characters, and blusters so awkwardly through the chapter that the kids are far more entertained by her attempts than the actual plot.

A good book, by Kanji's definition, requires puppets, which he supplies the next day, detective hats and diabolical mustaches and all.

It's comforting, being among hopeful kids with eager faces, but an additional sting accompanies it, because there's always Nanako, so pale and quiet underneath her sheets, and she'd used to be just like them. Mentioning her is inevitable to a group of curious children, who want to know why Risette and the Detective Prince and Frowny-san (Kanji scowls and mutters) are at the hospital so often when they're not sick or hurt. When Naoto explains, it's Kanji's friend who brings up the idea of folding her paper cranes as a good luck gesture.

"If she's really sick, the cranes'll blow all that away with their wings!" He flaps his own arms for emphasis, adding the necessary "Whooooooooooosh!" sound effect.

Rise giggles, tousling his hair. "With _that_ much power, she'll be able to share all that healthy energy with you guys! How many do you think it'd take, Shin-chan?"

Shin is already bright-eyed with possibility. " _Thousands._ "

"You'd get _paper cuts_ ," one of the other kids says derisively.

"Would not!"

"Would so!"

" _You'd_ get paper cuts!"

Before this can become a brawl, Naoto cuts in smoothly. "I _believe--_ " and she adjusts her hat with a sigh, suppressing a smile. "Fifty should suffice as an acceptable number. I'm certain Nanako-chan would be most pleased."

The children consider this, and Shin concedes with a sullen, " _Fiiine,_ since Kanji-niichan's helping."

Kanji balks. "Wha-- who said anything about that?! I don't know sh-- nothing about origami!" (He can already hear Yosuke making some kind of crack at his expense.)

"But Kanji-niichan!" He finds himself the victim of a pair of large brown eyes, guileless and full of faith and ultimately damning. "If _you_ make 'em, the cranes are gonna be ten times stronger!"

In a moment of unmanly fluster, Kanji turns pink and his choked denial sounds more like a dying chicken.

"You can't beat _that_ logic," Rise says promptly, as though this is nothing but common sense. "Kanji's the strongest one here." And the smile she gives him isn't one of her usual teasing specials.

Even Naoto's smile is softer. "That's true. Kanji-kun, we'll be relying on your strength."

"That ain't far," he grumbles, but both girls are still smiling at him, and he's too embarrassed to vocalize much of what he _wants_ to convey. He just slumps his shoulders, sighs heavily, and growls that they're at least getting the rest of the team in on this, kids shouldn't have to do all the work. This is greeted with a chorus of cheers, and the rest of his thoughts go unspoken.

He may dole out the most damage and shatter the most bones, but he's seen a petite idol stagger to her feet and fight, just as he's seen an even more diminutive detective risk her life for the truth, and he knows who the strong ones _really_ are.

(They manage to recruit the other members of the Investigation Team and Nanako's father to help with the cranes around Nanako's bedside while she sleeps. Teddie's contribution is unmistakably a bear, and Souji tries valiantly to fold a platypus that looks more like a square with a beak. Dojima chuckles until he gets a paper cut on his first try.)

In total - folding and finals and waiting, _so much waiting_ \- they spend twelve days at the Inaba Municipal Hospital, long enough that Kanji thinks it's beginning to resemble one of Naoto's stories, always that feeling of suspense dragging you along with no end in sight.

But he's forgotten that all stories inexorably end.

Fifty multicolored cranes, one bear and one possible platypus sit on Souji's table, ungifted. A kotatsu remains unused.

At the very end, Naoto is ashen and crumbling under the weight of sudden grief, barely able to comprehend what happened, but too prideful to shed tears, not when she feels as though she still needs to stand strong.

At the very end, Rise - loud, unrepentant, dramatic, dangerously cunning Rise - has her face buried in her hands, crying harder than she ever has, but utterly silent except for the occasional hitch of breath. She, like Naoto, is so accustomed to curbing her natural inclinations in public that neither girl will permit herself any more than this. Not here.

At the very end, knuckles scraped and stinging, bones straining in sharp contrast against the skin and the wall unyielding and austere under his fist, Kanji is the one gutturally screaming for all of them.

It's all they can do.


End file.
